Nothing but Regret
by Winter Ashby
Summary: She might have screamed "Watch out!" or "Jess!" just before he swerved. But that's not what haunts him now, as he sits on the walkway over the lake. [Jess & Rory] Jess POV Missing Scene from episode 2.19 Teach me Tonight


**Title:** **Nothing but Regret  
Author:** Winter Ashby (_rosweldrmr_)  
**Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls © Amy Sherman-Palladino**  
Rating:** K+**  
Timeline:** Missing Scene from episode 2.19 Teach me Tonight**  
Summary:** She might have screamed "Watch out!" or "Jess!" just before he swerved. But that's not what haunts him now, as he sits on the walkway over the lake. [Jess/Rory] (Jess POV) Missing Scene from episode 2.19 Teach me Tonight  
**Authors Notes:** I always thought the episode when Rory and Jess get in an accident was missing the actual accident scene, and when Jess decided to leave. For Jess' character, I thought those moments were important, and part of the reason why Rory falls for him. So I made it up. Apart from some cuts and scrapes and blood on clothing that the episode seemed to be lacking, this should be fairly close to canon. Consider this the "deleted scenes".

* * *

Jess takes a long drag of his cigarette and tries to let the cold night air numb him. But even that isn't enough to keep his hands from shaking. And the empty silence of Stars Hollow at night only seems to magnify the sound of Rory's voice in his head. He can hear her pain and fear and pleading, just as clearly as if she were next to him now. And she plays in an endless loop in his head...

"Jess, my arm."

It's not the sound of her screaming that consumes him now. No, he doesn't remember her screaming really. In fact, he doesn't remember if he did either. But judging by the way his whole body is tense and sore, and the crunched front end of her car, he knows they must have.

It was all just noise and motion that blended together in a cacophony of loud and fast. The squeal of rubber on asphalt, and the sound of metal being crushed and glass shattering, it all happened so fast. He can't even remember the exact order of things now. It's all just a jumble of light and noise and then, it was over. She might have screamed "Watch out!" or "Jess!" just before he swerved. But that's not what haunts him now, as he sits on the walkway over the lake.

No, it wasn't the metal or the glass or even the hissing the car made when it finally came to rest somewhere over and around a bus bench. It was Rory's voice. Soft and quivering as she held her left arm just below the elbow and looked at him with an expression he'd never seen her make before.

"Jess, my arm."

He'd seen that look before, of course, he recognized it. Shock and pain. He'd seen other faces contorted in the same confusion and agony. His mom, when she was in an accident. It wasn't long after his father left. He didn't remember it too well, but he remembered his mother's face afterward. Or his friend Jason, in New York, when he was hit by a car. He had been eating and walking and not paying attention and there was a cabbie who was eating and driving. And Jason flew six feet off the ground before he hit the pavement with a thud, his legs and arm all splayed out like a marionette with its strings cut. There was blood and hotdog relish everywhere, and Jason just kept looking up at him, with that face, while Jess held his hand against the rush of blood from his abdomen.

Jess shakes his head, trying to dispel the memories, recent and past, before he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Luke threw all his cigarettes out when he'd had that 'epiphany' a few months ago. But tonight, after the ambulance… after he is alone, he walks back towards the diner and steals a pack from Bootsy's stand. The diner was dark when he made it back, and he couldn't bring himself to go in. Couldn't bring himself to face her books or the apple. And it's all too much, this town, her eyes, the sound of her voice.

"Jess, my arm."

Jess puts his hands over his ears, as if the action could stop the memory of her voice. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuttered breath. The cigarette, mostly untouched, eats itself into ash in his hand. This one thing, _his _thing, smoking, which used to provide some comfort, stability, a shield against others, tonight, is as empty as the town.

He flicks the butt into the lake, and takes no pleasure in the thought of pissing Taylor off with littering. Because Taylor makes him think of that stupid bus bench, and the crash, and Rory, and her voice is still with him.

"Jess, my arm."

He's frustrated. Angry. Mad at her, for being her. For letting him be him. For liking her, for caring, for being able to bring his world to a complete stand still with just 3 words.

He lights another cigarette, he's lost count of how many now, but by the way the pack feels in his hands, he's been sitting there for a while. And, again, his thoughts wander, back to her. He thinks of her in the hospital, alone. He imagines her mother, charging in, demanding answers. And he swears he can almost _hear_ her defend him, placate her, and take it all in stride while they bandage her up and set her wrist. And unbidden, unwanted, the image of her face, stunned and scared, blood and glass on her cheeks springs to his mind and he grunts and folds in on himself.

He would give anything to forget, to not care, to not have to remember the feeling of absolute fear that shot through him at the sight of blood on her face. He's thankful for Stars Hollow nightlife just this once because when the pain is too much and the fear and adrenaline all mix and bubble to the surface and he whimpers, like a boy, because at least there's no one around to witness it.

He hasn't cried in years. He doesn't remember the last time, but it has been long enough that he doesn't know how to react when the urge to weep sweeps over him, stinging eyes and short, gaspy breaths. Cigarette in hand, he cups his face and he wants to scream, curse, punch, throw something. But instead, he takes a long, shaky breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Jess, my arm."

He reached for her, in the darkness, when she spoke. There was glass on his clothes, and some in his hands and forearms. He must have hit his head, because there was a throb in his forehead and a stinging in his left cheek. There was probably glass in his face, just like hers. But he doesn't care. Not like the way he normally didn't care about anything. No, this was a very particular type of not caring he had never experienced before. He didn't care about himself or the car or the bench or the fucking dog he'd just saved - because all he had room for inside himself was caring about her. The worry and fear and desperation to help was banging, thrashing against his carefully constructed apathy.

He touched her face, the pad of his thumb finding skin slick with tears and blood.

"Rory?" Even he was surprised by the sound of his voice when he said her name. She must know, then, as clearly as he did, he loved her.

He didn't think he did before… before metal and glass pushed him over a line he didn't want to cross. Before this, he liked her. She was sweet and smart and challenging, and a little crazy. She was a puzzle, a curiosity in this tiny town. She was a way to pass the time, to ruffle feathers and cause problems. She was never supposed to be anything more than that, a distraction. But somewhere between pursuing her, and the way she looked at him in the mangled wreck, he slipped. Or maybe he was caught, she laid the trap with those huge blue eyes and freckles and the way she always smelled like books.

"Are you alright?" He asked, knowing that she was alive and conscious and could speak. "Where doed it hurt?" he tried again, but all she did was look at him, and terror was quickly setting in. "You're arm?" he asked again, and moved his hand down the slope of her neck to her shoulder.

Silent tears streamed from her eyes and she watched him watch her.

"I'm going to unbuckle you now, okay?" He asked, and this time, she nodded. "Okay. Okay." He said it twice, once for her, and once for him. The buckle gave way with a clink, and her bottom lip began to tremble. "It's okay. You're going to be okay." He nodded with her and her hair stuck to the blood on her face.

"I'm going to get out and come around." He told her and she nodded again. "Okay." Movement was more painful than he'd anticipated, and he winced as the glass cut at his skin. Her good hand found his and their eyes locked as she helped him unbuckle himself. He smiled, lopsided and pitiful.

It was then that he realized, bleeding, cut, and with a broken wrist - she was kind, to a fault. And he was sure, this was his fault. Not the accident, but her, hurting her. He knew then, he would only ever hurt her. That was the nature of someone like him being with someone like her. She would give and give until there was nothing left of her. And he would take and take until there was nothing left for her to give. He would bleed her dry.

He pushed the thought aside, and leaned his bruised shoulder into the door and pushed it open. There was a creak of metal as the door moaned open and he almost stumbled out with the force of his shove. His legs were weak and he leaned against the body of the car as he walked around the back to her side, never taking his eyes off her through the windows. Then when he was next to her, he looked at her through the half broken passenger window and pried the handle up and yanked the door open.

"Can you move?" He asked her, crouching down next to where the bus stop used to be.

She didn't respond, but he didn't have time to ask again because he caught sight of headlights coming around the bend up ahead. He groaned when he stood too quickly. "I'm gonna flag them down." He told her while she held her wrist. He didn't wait to watch her nod. He knew she would, and he knew he needed to call the cops and an ambulance. He limped into the road and grimaced when he waved his hands over his head. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey! We had an accident!"

Thankfully, the car slowed and veered, a safe distance, from the mangled front end of Rory's former car. Someone rolled down their window, but Jess couldn't make out a face. It could have be someone from town; they were only just past the flowery "Welcome to Stars Hollow" sign. But he didn't recognize the old man's face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, but my friend, she hurt her wrist. It might be broken."

"I'll call 911."

"Thanks." Jess said, and was surprised by how much he _meant _it.

Jess spent the minutes waiting crouched next to Rory's door, his hand on her ankle, grounding her. She turned in her seat, but hadn't stood. And the crying had mostly stopped by the time the flashing lights arrived. But then, they started anew.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled into his shoulder after he'd helped her stand and the ambulance was pulling up. Her injured wrist was tucked between them, and he rubbed one hand over the back of her neck and through her hair and the other cradled her injured elbow safely.

"Shhhh." He told her and held her while she cried and quivered.

The EMTs took her to the ambulance and began to examine her injuries. Jess watched, from the corner of his eye, while the officer asked him and the old man questions. They took his license and the registration which, thank god, Rory had in the glove box. All the while, he watched as the EMTs cleaned up her face, and plucked shards of glass from her clothes and hair.

As soon as the cop was satisfied that the old man was just a Good Samaritan, he released him.

"You take care, now." The man said as he laid a hand on Jess' shoulder. "Take care of that young girl." And with that, he headed back to his car, and drove off, leaving Jess to contemplate all the ways he would fail at the last request. He didn't even know the man's name. And as the EMTs began to clean him up, leaning against the back of the cop car, still answering questions between swabs and gauze, wiping the blood from his face and hands, it bothered him. He thought about asking the cop for the man's name, but it never seemed like the right moment. Then the cop turned from him and headed toward Rory.

"You'll be fine." The EMT said while the cop asked more of the same questions with slightly differently wording of Rory. She was sitting in the back of the ambulance, a few yards away and she didn't take her eyes off him. The EMT told him to come to the hospital, but Jess refused.

"I'm fine."

"You say that now, but tomorrow you might not feel the same. The adrenaline can mask the pain. Better safe than sorry." The EMT cajoled him.

"Trust me, the safest place for me is not the hospital."

"Suit yourself." The EMT shrugged and gathered the discards of his healing efforts before walking back to the ambulance.

"She's going to be fine." The cop said when he came back over and slapped his black pad closed, satisfied with their stories. "You're both lucky you were wearing your seatbelts." Jess snorted and nodded because the only reason he was wearing his seatbelt at all was because Rory wouldn't let him put the car in gear until he'd buckled up. "They're going to take her to Hartford Hospital to get that wrist looked at. You can ride with her."

But Jess shook his head, "No. I'll wait for the tow."

"Is there anyone you need to call?"

"No, I'm fine." He glanced over at the ambulance just before Rory was swallowed up by the florescent lights of the cab. There was a plea in her eyes as she watched him shake his head. But she didn't speak up and a moment later, the doors closed behind her. "Thanks." He added to the cop and limped back over to the wreck.

"Okay, the tow should be along in a few. Then you can go."

"Yeah." Jess said, and watched long after the flashing lights of her ambulance had faded around the bend.

As soon as the tow came, and Jess signed everything, he turned back towards town and started walking. That's when he started hearing her in his head. The pleading in her voice, the fear in her eyes. He stole the pack of cigarettes and kept going past the diner and wound up at the lake.

He wasn't sure if it was because he liked it, or because his leg finally gave out. Either way, he sat on the walkway and started smoking.

The lighter he always carries is meant to be a comfort as he fingers the groves of the metal. But instead, he thinks of the metal of the car and the way Rory looked when she said his name.

This is the way Luke finds him. Smoking, thinking, shaking with fear and hate and worry and so much empathy it chokes him.

He looks up as the heavy footfalls approach, not at all surprised to find Luke. His face is flushed and Jess knows it's not from the walk. And inwardly, he cringes, knowing what he might have just cost Luke.

"I made sure she was okay." He takes another long drag, to hide his shaking hands.

"I know." Luke says before Jess can even contemplate not believing him.

And so they sit, for a long time, the silence is silent once again in Jess' head. He thinks of nothing. Not Luke, not Rory. Not even the sound of her voice. Just his cold fingers and the smell of the smoke, the feel of it flowing down his throat and past his lips. He watches his feet hover just above the water and his reflection undulate in the moonlight.

"Send me back." He says as he flicks his last, half-smoked cigarette into the lake.

"She's going to be fine."

"Didn't ask." Jess corrects him.

"I know."

"Well, aren't you all-knowing tonight?" He jibes, but the bluster is lost and he ends up just sounding like a boy. A boy who is tired and scared and lost.

"You can stay." Luke tells him as Jess watches the water ripple where the ember of the cigarette has just sizzled out.

"I really can't." He means for it to sound like a declaration, but even Jess knows that it's a plea. "She-" he cuts himself off when the hitch in his voice catches. And now, for the first time since he can remember, he cries. He couldn't when he was alone and it was Rory running though his head. But now, with Luke's jacket rubbing against his arm and his fingerless-gloved-hands twisting shapes in the dark, he remembers how.

He wants to tell Luke that he's sorry, or that he loves Rory. He wants to explain about the accident, or ask him for another chance. He wants to thank him for everything, and apologize for the rest. He wants to tell him that he didn't mean to love her, and he's not sure how everything got so screwed up. He wants to tell him about the snowman and the sleigh ride, or confess about the toaster and helping with the wake. But instead, he just cries. His hands on his face, and he leans into Luke.

Luke sighs, like he knows everything Jess can't say, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Luke lets him sputter himself out, until Jess is sure there is nothing left in him but regret.

"Come on, let's get your duffle." Luke says as he stands and extends a hand. "I'll take you to the bus stop."

Jess takes his hand, knowing the gesture means so much more. "Yeah. Okay."


End file.
